Do you hear the dead man? – for dVerse

Do you ever hear
behind you — empty echoes
of the dead man’s careful gait?
Do you ever hear
his wheezing whimpering for faults of his,
that you’ve copied faithfully?
Do you ever hear
the dead man’s soundless cries at night
begging you to stray a little while?
To make it different from him.
To cut yourself another path
through brambles (that he left for you).

Do you ever hear
the dead man singing?
in the oak-tree’s falling leaves;
in the winter’s icicle formation;
in late November’s sleeplessness
begging you to change.
Do you ever hear
the dead man’s heartbeats
racing with your own?
Playing timpani on rusting
skeletons of dying cars.

Did you ever hear
the dead man’s sighing
before you realized
it was your
faltering in final gasps.

Today Grace has us to write a poem at dVerse poetics from the perspective of the dead man. My attempt is about he dead man trying in vain the errors he had done from being repeated.
Pub opens at 3 PM EST. Join us and read excellent poetry.
—
November 4, 2014

I liked “Do you ever hear the dead man’s heartbeat racing with your own?” First of all, interesting that the dead man has a heartbeat; and then I can definitely feel the idea of dead man’s heartbeat racing with the heartbeat of the living….on both sides of the great divide. Quite eerie to consider the parallels between the dead and the living!

Spooky good, & the refrain works like crazy, B.–just adore it when you dig deep into free verse, beating down fear, flapping growing wings; love the lines /playing timpani on rusting/skeletons of dying cars/. The image you chose is bang on, reminding me of many I have taken.

Yes. I do. And your poem is an eye-opener. You picked the perfect details, rhythm, repetitions, and mood. Mine would be my grandmother, whose taunts are often how she did more and better, but then, in the end, the “You are just like your grandmother” has become reality. I hope I am more humble and happier even if I am not as great. She was awesome. I learned years ago from Stephen Levine, to invite those vocal ghosts over for tea.